Physically Weak But Mentally Strong
by IAmJohnLocked4Life
Summary: It's two years after Sherlock has died and John still believes that Sherlock will walk through the door any second. When Sherlock does, how does John respond when he sees that Sherlock is hurt? Rated T to be safe, please R
1. Chapter 1

_He was falling. No, falling was too nice. He told me that the phone call was his note. He told me that he was a fake, that he invented Moriarty. Then, he jumped. From where I was standing, I could hear his bone breaking as he hit the cement._ That noise is what jolted me awake. This was the third time I had attempted to sleep today. None of the previous attempts had succeeded in staving off the tired that I had felt for the past two years. That dream haunted me every time I tried to fall asleep.

I got out of bed, still tired, and walked into the kitchen of 221B. As I waited for the boiling kettle to howl, I looked around the kitchen and living space. It looked all the same, as if Sherlock had never died. I never had the heart to pack anything up. My therapist would tell me that it was unhealthy, but I needed to be reminded of him. I was afraid that, had I packed things or moved away from 221B, I would forget Sherlock. The man was important to me. He saved me after the war.

The howl of the kettle pulled me out of my thoughts. I took my warm tea and went to sit in my chair. I grabbed the newspaper in front of me. I did my best not to look at the headline, but I couldn't help it. It was his picture, in that deerstalker hat that he always hated.

_"Sherlock Holmes: Two Years Later."_

_"Still Fraud Despite Global Movement."_

The headline made me sick. Even in death, they couldn't let him be. That was not the story that interested me. The focus of my attention was the story of a 19 year old girl who had been murdered. She had been found in a shipping yard, which she had no business being in. I re-read the article for the ninth time that day, trying to use Sherlock's methods of deduction to figure out why she was there. It didn't work. I could never figure out how he did it.

I continued to scan through articles that I had read multiple times today. I was stalling from what I actually had to do. It was the two year anniversary and I was going to have to go to Sherlock's grave. I didn't like going to his grave. It never made me feel closer to him and it made his death seem final. When I was at 221B, I felt like Sherlock would walk through the door any moment. I guess that's why I didn't pack anything away. I expected him to walk through the door, like he had never died.

As I continued to read, I could hear the front door open and someone enter the hallway. Mrs. Hudson must be back, but I never heard her leave. She must have left while I was trying to sleep. I scanned through the last page as I heard Mrs. Hudson walk up the stairs.

"Do you need any help Mrs. Hudson?" I called

No one answered.

"Mrs. Hudson?" I called again, folding the paper and placing it on the table.

I heard someone bump into the wall.

"John." Someone called out, as if they were out of breath.

I turned toward the voice and there he was, just standing there, a gun in one hand while the other clutched his ribs. He was covered in sweat.

"John, please...help." Sherlock said as he crumpled to the floor


	2. Chapter 2

He collapsed so fast, as if someone had hit him in the back of the head an instant before. I was terrified.

"Oh God, Sherlock." I gasped, jumping out of my chair and kneeling down next to him. "Sherlock, what happened?"

His hand was covered in blood as well as his shirt. I lifted the shirt to see the wound. A bullet hit him right under the Sternum

"What happened, Sherlock?" I asked again.

I placed a hand over the wound, then shouted for Mrs. Hudson.

"Col. Sebastian Moran is dead. I've killed all of them." Sherlock responded.

"What do you mean?"

I should have been very angry at Sherlock, but I wasn't. Mrs. Hudson entered the flat.

"John, you...Oh my!" She exclaimed at the scene before her.

"Mrs. Hudson, I need you to call for an ambulance."

"No!" Sherlock shouted as best as he could, grabbing my shirt tight.

It was as if he was desperate not to go to the hospital, almost like he had given up hope.

"Sherlock, you have been _shot._ You need a hospital."

"I'm supposed to be dead. No hospitals."

"Then what do you want to do? Die!?" I shouted in exasperation.

"I came to you, didn't I? You're an army doctor." Sherlock stated, pointing out the obvious.

I couldn't believe what I was about to do. This was crazy, Sherlock needed a hospital, but he was being stubborn as usual.

"Mrs. Hudson, there is a large medical first aid kit on the other side of the bathroom cabinet. Please make haste in obtaining it." She scurried out of the room and I turned back to Sherlock. "Tell me from the beginning what happened."

"Moriarty threatened to kill you before he killed himself. He threatened to kill you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson. I had to fake my death in order to protect you. While I was in hiding, I began to pick off the would be assassins. Today, I killed Sebastian Moran. He got a shot off before I could kill him though. "

"Where were you?" I questioned, not comprehending the back story to it.

"I was near chadwick. The shortest walk was twenty minutes."

"Jesus, Sherlock, you walked right past . You..."

I paused to take a deep breath. I would scold Sherlock later for his decision.

"You've lost a lot of blood." I commented

"I know." Sherlock responded.

I rolled him onto his side to see if the bullet had passed through. It had indeed, which meant that it could no longer cause any more internal bleeding. Mrs. Hudson came back with the medical supplies. I began to do my work. As I patched the wound on his back, I could hear Sherlock mutter something.

"What are you saying?" I asked, but there was no answer. "Sherlock?" I asked, rolling him over.

His eyes had fallen shut.

"Sherlock, you need to keep your eyes open!" I shouted while shaking him back into consciousness.

"John, you need to go to my flat. There is evidence there that Moriarty did actually exist. The key is in my pocket." He informed me as he began to reach for his pocket.

"No, I'll get it." I said, reaching into his left pocket. "What is the address of your flat?"

"221B Park Lane. It is across the city from here."

Of course, Sherlock would pick a 221B flat. I took Sherlock's wrist after I was finished patching the wound on his back. I was feeling for his pulse. It was there, but that could change in an instant. I had to convince him to go to the hospital.

"Don't even think about it." Sherlock stated. "Don't think about arguing with me again. I am not going to the hospital" He whispered.

"Sherlock, I don't have the correct medical supplies to take care of you adequately."

"Then do whatever is necessary, except for taking me to a hospital."

"Yes, fine, alright." I conceded to his demands.

I stood up, shifting the coffee table closer to Sherlock, so that I could prop his feet upon it. Then I proceeded to grab a blanket and wrap him in it.

"I don't need a blanket." He tried to argue.

"You will eventually." I whispered under my breath, taking his pulse one more time. "Alright Sherlock, you need to stay awake while I'm gone."

Then I turned to Mrs. Hudson.

"You need to keep him away. If you see anything change, you need to call me."

"How would I know what changes?"

"You call me about anything you think is out of the ordinary. Sherlock, stay awake, I'll be back."

With that, I ran out of 221B and hailed a taxi.


	3. Chapter 3

I had been in the taxi for five minutes, urging the cabbie to drive faster. I was getting antsy. I needed to get back to Sherlock as soon as possible. I pulled my phone out and dialed a number. It rang four times.

"Carlyle." The voice answered.

"Carlyle, its John Watson. I need your help. It's a long story, but I need some medical supplies. Can you help me? Are you at the base's warehouse?" I asked

"I can be there in ten minutes. I don't know how much help I can be to you though."

"That's fine, just meet me there in ten." Then I hung up.

Carlyle was an old army buddy of mine. He was the secondary medic in our squad, but he is now assigned to a country bound job. Hopefully, he could help me. We stopped in front of 221B Park Lane. I asked the cabbie to wait for me then, I dashed inside. It was then that I realized that Sherlock hadn't told me where the evidence was. I don't know why I started by looking in his bedroom. I felt compelled to look in there, even though I knew that it wasn't in there. Ordinary people hid things in their bedroom and Sherlock was not ordinary.

I still searched his room, starting from the farthest point in the room and working my way to the door. I looked everywhere. In drawers, under the bed, and the first bedside table. I looked up, almost in despair, after finding nothing, when I saw a second bedside table. I walked over there, asking my self why a single man, living by himself, would have two bedside tables. Only one object occupied the table. I picked up the picture of me, from off the table, and stared in astonishment. Sherlock Holmes had kept a picture of me by his bed, every night for the past two years.

I couldn't think about the sentimental value of it now, I had to keep looking. I pulled open the drawer of the table. There was nothing in it, but its weight was oddly disproportionate to an empty drawer. I couldn't understand why the drawer was so heavy. I ran my hand along the bottom of it and checked all the sides. There was nothing there. I ran my hand along the inside of it, when my hand caught something of interest. I couldn't see it, so I ran my hand along it again. I pushed down over the little notch that was there.

The false bottom popped open, showing a stack of manila files. This is indeed what I had been looking for. Pulling the file folder out, I dialed another phone number. It was a number that I hadn't dialed in nearly three years. I opened the file folder to make sure that this was indeed the correct thing I needed. A mechanical voice came over the phone.

"Yes?" It questioned

"Get my Mycroft Holmes." I ordered.

"One moment."

I scooped up the file folders and ran for the cab, giving him the address for the Army Base's warehouse.

"Mycroft Holmes can not be reached at this time." A real woman answered.

"I don't care what meeting you have to drag him out of. You tell him John Watson's on the phone and the matter with which I wish to speak with him about is of high national security."

"Sir, I..."

"I don't care what you can and can't do. Get him on the phone!" I shouted.

I was put on hold once again. I reached forward and pulled the divider shut. I was still on hold when I heard my phone beep. I looked at it, thinking it was Mrs. Hudson. I was surprised to see that it was a text from Carlyle.

"_Meet me the dock doors. - Carlyle."_

I didn't respond, but instead put the phone back to my ear.

"What the bloody hell do you want, John Watson!" He exclaimed.

"Mycroft, If I could provide you with information showing that Richard Brook never existed, could you clear Sherlock's name?" I asked quickly.

"This is what I was pulled from my meeting for?!"

"Mycroft, I would explain but I don't have time. Just answer my damn question."

I could hear a sigh of exasperation from Mycroft's end.

"Technically, It might. It would all depend on how clear cut and incriminating the evidence would be."

With that answer, I hung up the phone and jumped out of the cab. I had arrived at my destination, grabbed the files, paid the cabbie, and ran to the dock doors. Carlyle was standing there when I arrived.

"Watson, how are you doing?"

"I'm fine. Let's talk inside." I ushered him into the warehouse, looking behind me as I entered. "What I am about to tell you stays between us, alright?" I whispered as soon as we were in the warehouse. Carlyle nodded his head yes. "Long story short, someone I know has been hurt. They can't go to the hospital and I need to help him."

"What do you need?" Carlyle asked. I gave him a look of surprise at his answer. "What do you need?" He asked again.

"I..." My phone rang, interrupting me. It was . "Yes, Mrs. Hudson?" I answered, holding up a finger to Carlyle.

"John, it's Sherlock. He's complaining that it's cold and that his chest hurts on his left side."

"Let me talk to him."

There was silence.

"John." Sherlock moaned in pain.

"I need you to tell me exactly what is happening."

"The left side of my chest hurts every time I breathe. It feels like I'm breathing through a straw. And how cold do you keep this flat? It's like blood Antarctica in here."

"Everything will be fine. I will be there in less than fifteen minutes. Hand me back to Mrs. Hudson."

More silence.

"Yes, John?"

"Mrs. Hudson, wrap him in another blanket and continue to keep him awake. I'll be there soon." I hung up and turned to Carlyle. "I'm going to need bandages, blood, multiple saline solutions, oxygen tanks, blood bags, a heart monitor, an AED, and an assortment of tools."

Carlyle turned around and began to run toward a row of shelves. I followed him as he turned down the aisle.

"Here we go." He said, more to himself than to me, as he began pulling large crates out of the warehouse shelves.

Within minutes, there were nine large crates piled on a pallet mover with three oxygen tanks. Carlyle began to make his way out of the warehouse.

"We'll put them in my truck and I'll take you to your friend."

When we arrived at his truck, I threw the file folder into the passenger seat and returned to unload the crates. We moved quickly and in under five minutes, we were heading back toward Baker Street. Carlyle tried to ask me questions, but I didn't answer. I felt that it would have been bad for Sherlock if I told Carlyle. Sherlock was suppose to be dead and no one needed to know that he was alive.

Carlyle slammed on the brakes as we arrived. I made my way up the stairs to the flat with five large crates in my arms and the three oxygen tanks. I dropped the crates to open the flat door. When the door swung open, I could easily see that Sherlock's condition had worsen within the twenty minutes that I was gone.

From the door, I could hear Sherlock's ragged breathing and I could see him shivering, despite the sweat that was pouring down his face. I moved next to Sherlock as Carlyle shoved the crates in the room. I took Sherlock's wrist in my hand, taking his pulse. It hammered under my fingers like the wings of a humming bird.

"He's slipping into shock. Carlyle, hand me a saline solution and 100 cc's of blood." I ordered.

Carlyle threw the items to me and I caught them in the air. I quickly set them up. It took me less than a second to find a vein in Sherlock's arm.

"Sherlock, you are going to feel a little pinch." I informed him.

"It's so cold." he muttered as I slid the needle into his arm.

His voice sounded ragged and his breathing just seemed to get worse.

"I know, Sherlock, I know." I looked up at Carlyle. "We need to move the furniture away from the wall and put Sherlock over there." I said, standing up and motioning to the couch.

Carlyle moved to one side while I grabbed the other and we moved it quickly. Then we proceeded to carefully move Sherlock to the empty space.

"Okay." I muttered to myself as I secured the bags to the wall. "Carlyle, I need you to hand me some anesthetic."

"We don't have any." He replied.

"What do you mean that we don't have any?"

"There isn't any in here."

"What the bloody hell?!" I shouted.

"John." Sherlock called in a whisper. "There is some chloroform underneath the sink."

"Carlyle, go under the sink. You'll see a large container of a clear liquid. Mrs. Hudson, help him a grab a cloth of some sort." The two took off into the kitchen as I turned back to Sherlock.

I tore the blanket off of him and propped his feet up on a crate.

"Sherlock, tell me how Chloroform works." I said as I cut the shirt away from his body.

"It should work like a regular anthe-"

"I need the finer points of how it works. What do I need to do?"

"You need to soak the cloth in the liquid. A few minutes before you operate, you will need to knock me out. When you-"

Then he seized in pain, gasping for air. The heart monitor, which I had attached to Sherlock's chest, began to go crazy.

"I need you to calm down, Sherlock. I know it hurts but I will get it fixed. I think the bullet pierced your lung."

Sherlock's eyes stayed shut tight as pain wrecked havoc through his body.

"Sherlock, can you keep directing me? What do I need to do after I knock you out?"

"When you start the operation, you will need to give me oxygen. Start it at a low PSI, somewhere between five and fifteen. If you see me start to stir, you will need to knock me out again. When you've finished, turn the PSI up. The oxygen will counteract the Chloroform if you turn it up to any number between fifty and seventy" He answered, through gritted teeth, as I began to set up.

Carlyle and came up behind me with the Chloroform as I began to double check my setup.

"Carlyle, go scrub up. I'm going to need you on this." Carlyle went back into the kitchen.

I began soaking the cloth when I felt Sherlock grab my hand. I turned to him as his weak grip tightened slightly. He was losing strength quickly, I could see it in his eyes, but he wouldn't let go. It was as if I were his life line.

"Everything will be fine, Sherlock." I comforted.

"I know, I trust you."

"_That's great because I don't trust myself."_ I thought.

"I have total faith in you." Sherlock said weakly.

"I've got to put you under now, Sherlock. I'll be here when you wake up, I promise." I told him as I rung most of the liquid out of the rag.

"You can do this, John." He encouraged as I brought the rag near his face.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock." I whispered as I put the rag over his mouth and nose.

He held my hand till his eyes closed, which was the almost at the same time that his hand went limp in mine. I gently laid it down next to his unconscious form.

"let's go, Carlyle. We don't have much time."


	4. Chapter 4

I relayed all the information that I knew to Carlyle while scrubbing my hands clean.

"Mrs. Hudson, I suggest that you not be present." I told her

"John Hamish Watson, This man, even though many people see him as cold hearted, has done alot for me and he cares about me. I am going to be here to help you and him." She replied sternly.

I wasn't about to argue with her. Frankly, if I were her, I would be doing the same thing.

"Alright." I replied, then I went and knelt by Sherlock. "Carlyle, start him on oxygen. I'm going to start making the incision."

"Where are you cutting?" He asked has he set up the oxygen tanks.

"I'm going to cut about two inches above and below the bullet wound."

I made the incision and was done when Carlyle knelt opposite me. I pulled a head lamp onto my forehead and turned it on. Pulling the incision apart, I finally got a chance to see the inside of Sherlock's chest. His right lung was full and inflated, working properly. My eye turned to Sherlock's heart. The heart that was beating, the heart that was keeping him alive. It was the left lung that was damaged.

I could see it through the ribs. It had gone flat, which meant that the bullet had either punctured or nicked the lung. I could easily see the wound, luckily the bullet had grazed the lung. That was an injury that I could easily fix.

"Hand me a suture." I ordered without looking up.

I felt it in my hand and focused on the wound. With precise and practiced movements, I was able to close the hole in Sherlock's lung. I put the suture back into Carlyle's hand after asking for a chest tube. As he was getting it, I took a second suture and began to stitch the incision sight. I left a large enough hold in the chest for the chest tube. Carlyle handed me the chest tube and I carefully inserted it into Sherlock's chest cavity. I heard as the air escaped his chest through the tube.

Sherlock's chest slowly began to rise and fall. His breathing was labored, but at least he was breathing. I taped the tube in place and covered the rest of the wound. I placed an oxygen mask on Sherlock before standing up. My knees cracked as I stood to give directions.

"We need to carefully move him onto the couch, without dislodging the chest tube."

With Mrs. Hudson's help, we were able to move quickly. We took a few seconds to move Sherlock carefully. Thankfully, the chest tube did not dislodge. I turned the PSI up on the oxygen tank and covered him in a blanket.

Carlyle and I both walked into the kitchen to wash our hands clean.

"Good job, Watson." Carlyle commented as he dried his hands.

"I have to thank you for your help." I replied.

Carlyle took a look at his phone. I assumed that he had received a text.

"I have to go. Emergency back home. Let me know if there is anything else that you need." He informed me.

"Thanks again." I repeated, drying my hands.

"You're welcome." He shouted as he walked out of the door.

I walked back into the living room as I heard the front door slam. I watched from the window as Carlyle got into his truck and leave. After he was down the street, I turned around to see Mrs. Hudson watching Sherlock.

"Mrs. Hudson, It will be a while before Sherlock is awake. Why don't we have some tea?"

"I'd like that." She acknowledged.

I went into the kitchen, bringing the files with me. As the water boiled, I looked over the files briefly. There were family trees, DNA reports, back stories, and even more papers that I didn't even know about.

"What are you looking at John?"

Mrs. Hudson had walked into the kitchen and I didn't even know it.

"Just some papers that Sherlock wanted me to get from his flat across town." I answered, grabbing my phone. "_Get to 221B. Emergency."_ I sent to Mycroft before I called him.

"What do you want, John?" He asked exasperated.

"Did you get my text?"

"Of course, I bloody well did! I'm on my way now. This better be good." Then Mycroft hung up.

I shoved my phone back into my pocket and shut the file folders, as the kettle hissed. I poured a cup for Mrs. Hudson and handed it to her.

"I am going to check on Sherlock. Please, drink the tea." I informed her.

I went and knelt next to Sherlock, taking his wrist in my hands. Even though the heart monitor told me everything that I needed, I still had to be sure. I needed to check for myself that he was still alive. I could feel his pulse pound underneath my fingers. I could see his warm breath frost the inside of the oxygen mask. I could see the rise and fall of Sherlock's chest. I could feel his warm skin in my hand.

All of these are signs that Sherlock is alive, but I can't believe that he is. I had no feeling, no perception of what had happened when he first stepped through the threshold of 221B. Now, I know that I can't him again. I have to keep him alive. There are questions that I need answered, but I will have to wait again to get them answered. I held his hand in mine, still in amazement that Sherlock was still alive. I cold wrap my mind around the idea.

How had Sherlock faked his death? I was glad that he was alive. I had Sherlock back in my life. As I heard the front door slam, I was forced to release Sherlock's hand. I glanced once more to Sherlock then approached our flat door.

"Who is it, John?" Mrs. Hudson questioned.

"It's Mycroft Holmes, ." He called in response from the stairs.

Mrs. Hudson appeared at my side and looked at Mycroft with worry.

"Is everything alright, Mycroft?"

"Yes. John wishes to discuss some business with me. Of what kind, I do not know."

"I will leave you two boys be. John, I will be downstairs if you need anything."

"We will be fine, ." I replied as she retreated down the stairs.

"What are you doing? Starting your own practice?" Mycroft asked as he entered the sitting room.

"Something like that." I replied.

I realized that Mycroft could not see his unconscious brother behind the medical crates.

"So, what's this big emergency that you have?" Mycroft asked as I shut the flat door.

"Maybe you could ask him." I replied, pointing to Sherlock. Mycroft turned to face his brother, his face never changing expressions. "YOU KNEW!" I exploded in anger. "YOU KNEW THAT HE WAS ALIVE. WHO ELSE KNEW?"

"No one else knows, except for Lestrade." Mycroft answered.

"WHY DIDN'T I KNOW! I'M HIS FLAT MATE FOR CHRIST SAKES!"

"I have no logical reason for knowing why you could not be told. Sherlock was being irrational. He made me swear not to tell you. The only reason Lestrade knew was because Sherlock said it was vital. Please tell me that Sherlock is not the only reason that you have called me here?"

I grabbed Mycroft by the arm, dragging him into the kitchen.

"Are you not at all concerned about your brother? You haven't once asked what had happened to him. For your information, he was shot and wouldn't go to the hospital. I was forced to fix his collapsed lung."

"That was not my question, John." Mycroft said calmly.

"You cold heartless bastard." I spat.

"I have been called many things, John. That does not phase me in the least. Why am I here?"

I turned around to grab the file off the desk. With anger coursing through my body, I shoved the file into Mycroft's chest. He absorbed the hit, holding the files to his chest, before throwing them on the desk and staring me down. His eyes burned like the fires of hell. He began to flip through the files, tearing his gaze away from me.

"What is this?" He questioned, motioning to the files after a few minutes of perusing them.

"This can clear Sherlock's name. It proves that Richard Brook never existed."

"So _this_ is why you called me here?"

"Hey, _you're_ the one who said that you would be able to clear his name if I gave you evidence. Well, here is your damn evidence. Go and clear his name."

"There is no evidence here." Mycroft replied with a smug look of defiance.

It was then that I heard a sound that made my heart stop, but it made my feet race. The heart monitor that was constantly reassuring me that Sherlock was alive was now making a high pitched beeping sound. It was telling me that Sherlock was dead.

* * *

**NOTE 12/18/12**: Okay, readers, I know that you want more. I need everybody to take a chill pill and stop telling me that I need to get on it. I know that I need to write more. I'm a college student taking 19 credits next semester and working a full time job over break. I will get to my story, when I get to it. If you want the rest of the story to be amazing, GIVE ME TIME!


	5. Chapter 5

_So, I know that it has been forever since I have given you a taste of this story. Here is the next chapter. Thank you for being patient with me._

_-IAmJohnLocked4Life_

* * *

In hindsight, I could never really comprehend what that noise meant. My brain had just taken over in that instant. I shot out into the living room, where I saw Sherlock standing and slowly begin to fall. Luckily, I managed to catch Sherlock before he hit the ground.

"Jesus, Sherlock." I muttered, lowering him onto the couch. "Why are you trying to stand? I just preformed an operation on you."

"You weren't here." He whispered, his eyes still wide with fear. It was then that I remembered what I had promised him and now I felt guilty.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. You're brother and I were having a little spat."

"I could easily here what you were arguing about." Sherlock answered as I began to check his vitals. "So I assume that Mycroft is questioning the significance of my evidence."

"Of course, I am Sherlock. There is nothing of importance within these files." Mycroft answered.

"May I see those dear brother?" Sherlock questioned, holding his hand out.

Mycroft put the files in Sherlock's hand and Sherlock tore them open, his hands searching for two sheets of paper.

"Here." He said, pulling the sheets out for further inspection. "These are family trees that I have constructed. One is Moriarty's and the other is for Richard Brook. As you can see, there is no difference between them except one. The picture and name of our suspect, Moriarty. Now, had I planned this, I would have changed some of the names. I also would have changed some of the pictures as well, but I would never change both the name and the picture of the same person."

Sherlock then dug around and found more papers.

"These are news paper articles. I believe that you have seen these before, John." Upon further inspection, I agreed that I had seen these before. "We had seen these the night I went to go meet Ms. Kitty Riley." Sherlock continued. "If you look closely, you will see that she wrote every single news article about "Richard Brook: The Story Teller". You can also see that these all come from different news papers. I have done some research on Ms. Kitty Riley. She has only been with one newspaper in her career and that newspaper does not appear among these articles."

Then Sherlock put those away and began to pull out a large script.

"Oh, John. The murder in the paper, the girl died at the hands of the brother's friend." He added.

"What?" I questioned.

"The girl's brother got himself into drug running. The girl followed him as he snuck out of the house. She saw what was happening, for the drugs were coming in and out of the shipping yard. His friend, who was the brother's boss, noticed the girl and tried to get her brother to kill her. He wouldn't, so the brother's friend killed her." And he looked up at me, finally finishing his explanation of the murder.

Sherlock looked back to his brother and began to argue again.

"This is a script of a phone call that I had apparently made with Moriarty. It does not address me by name, but by phone number. As you can see, it is not my phone number and I would have used multiple phone numbers. The phones would have ranged from payphones, burns phones, et cetra. I think you are beginning to understand my drift, but just to be sure." Sherlock reached for another sheet of paper. "This is Moriarty's bank account, with a 500,000 dollar deposit that was suppose to come from me. As you can see, this is not my bank account number. This bank account actually traces back to a member of national parliament." Sherlock went to grab another piece of information, but Mycroft stopped him.

"Stop, dear brother." Mycroft said, gathering the papers that were scattered around the table. "I will try my best." He walked out of 221B and I shut the door behind him.

I moved my chair by Sherlock before continuning our conversations.

"You should call Lestrade." Sherlock commented.

"I will call Lestrade later, Sherlock. I have a question for you. Earlier, you were trying to explain what happened between you and Moriarty. I don't quiet understand it, so can you please explain it again?" I asked.

"Moriarty told us that he had a computer code and that he had left it at Baker Street, after he had been acquitted. Well, I figured it out and told him to meet me on the roof of St. Barts. I gave it back to him, because it was a rhythm that was tapped out with the fingers, each finger tap being a one and a rest being a zero."

"Blimey, that's clever." I said under my breath.

"But I was wrong. It had never been a computer code. It was cartisan number one by Johan Sebastian Bach. The key code had never existed."

"But then...how did he break into all of those places?" I questioned.

"He paid off people who worked there. They were all daylight robberies. He told me that they were willing participants. It was his plan all along. He wanted me to die in disgrace. He wanted me to kill myself. I dangled him over the edge of the roof and that was when he threatened Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and you. He said 'three bullets, three gunman, and three victims. There's no stopping them now, unless my people see you jump. You can have me arrested, you can torture me, you can do anything you like me with, but nothing will prevent them from pulling the trigger. You only three friends in the world will die unless...' The only way to save you was to jump. I was planning to jump, but Moriarty said 'I'm certainly not going to do it', which is how I knew that there was a recall word. He knew that he had messed up, so Moriarty was forced to kill himself to make his "story" complete. Because Moriarty killed himself, I was forced to jump."

"I had to protect you. For the past two years, I have been hunting down the snipers who Moriarty were using to kill everyone."

It fell silent between us for a moment. Sherlock had been giving me time to digest all of the information that he just gave me. I sat there and nodded my head in thought.

"John, please let me..." Sherlock began.

"No."

"John!"

"You don't have to explain yourself right now."

"John, I'm sorry."

"Sherlock, there's no need to be sorry. Its okay."

"Its not okay, John. I saw you at the graveyard. I know that its not okay. I'm sorry."

"Its fine. You don't have to explain yourself to me now. What you need to do is to get better. I want you to get some sleep. Let the chloroform get out of your system."

"I'm not tired." Sherlock argued.

"Sherlock, I can see you fighting to keep your eyes open. Get some sleep. I'm going to call Lestrade and I will be right here when you wake up. Go to sleep."

I stood up and walked out of the room. I called Lestrade, which took about ten minutes. We spoke about the ship yard girl. When he asked me about the specifics, all I told him was that I had a hunch and that he had to trust me. He asked how I came to those conclusions and I told him that I had used some of Sherlock's methods. He took it at face value and told me that he would contact me with how it panned out. I thanked him and we hung up. I walked back into the living room to a wonderful sight. Sherlock had fallen asleep.

I pulled my seat closer to Sherlock's head, as quietly as I could. I sat in the chair for awhile, a smile slowly spread across my face. I had Sherlock back with me. The only one who I loved was back with me, but I still couldn't believe it. I felt like I would wake up at any minute and Sherlock would be gone. A cruel dream that felt so real. It wouldn't be the first time that I had dreams like that. I gently put his hand in mine, noticing that my fingers were over his pulse.

It was that beat that let me know that the heart, that was filled with the best intentions, which belonged to the person that I loved, was still alive. It was that heartbeat that carried me off to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

I woke up screaming and covered in sweat. My heart was trying to rip itself out of my chest, it was beating so fast. Each beat flashed back to a dream. _Sherlock standing on the roof. Sherlock dropping his phone, his arms spreading out. Me pulling my phone away from my ear, shouting "Sherlock, why wouldn't you let me save you!" Sherlock falling off the building and crashing into the ground. _I thought for sure that, as the dream continued to flash with every heart beat, I was going to lose my mind. I felt a hand on my shoulder.

""John, Its okay. I'm right here. You saved me, didn't you? I'm still right here, aren't I? I did let you save me."

Then Sherlock enveloped me in a hug. I lost control, sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder. He just held me as the tears came faster. I don't know how long we sat like that, but by the time I had stopped, the sun was high in the air.

"So everything is okay? Really, John?" Sherlock asked, mocking my comment from out earlier conversation last night.

"Shut up, Sherlock." I said, drying my eyes.

That topic wasn't brought up again between us. Over the next three days, I lived in the living room with Sherlock. You would have thought that he would be getting better over those three days. I thought so, too.

We were both wrong.

It stared with headaches. When Sherlock told me about it, I figured that they were caused by the surgery. The chloroform was just taking longer to exit his system. Then he was having muscle pains. He was cold, even though he was sweating, hit temperature slowly beginning to rise. The second day, he was having fits of nausea, he wasn't able to keep any food down.

I was sitting in a chair as Sherlock made his way back from one of his vomiting sessions. He was using the counter in the kitchen to help him walk, then he stopped.

"Sherlock, are you okay?"

He didn't answer me. Both his hands were gripping the counter, his eyes shut tight. I could see his legs shaking.

"Sherlock?" I asked, standing up and walking toward him.

It was a good thing that I began walking toward him because he sank to his knees. I was able to catch him.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?"

"The room won't stop spinning."

I helped Sherlock back to the couch. He leaned on me heavily. When I sat him down, I ran a few quick tests. Based on the results of those tests, I could see nothing wrong with him.

"Sherlock, I want you to stay on the couch."

"Okay." Sherlock whispered, with a nod of his head.

"Why don't you take a nap?"

"Good idea." Sherlock closed his eyes as I walked away.

I pulled a pail out and put it by Sherlock incase he was over come by nausea again. I also dampened a cloth to put on Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock's skin was hot to the touch.

I needed to find out what was wrong with Sherlock.

I dug through a medical crate and pulled out a syringe. I tapped Sherlock on the shoulder lightly.

"Sherlock, I'm going to take some blood to test then attach you to the heart monitor."

"Alright." Sherlock whispered, his eyes staying closed as he responded.

Sherlock was so sick that it was very easy for me to find a vein. When I was done, I brought the syringe to the dining table and prepared a slide for the microscope. I then ran to my room, grabbed a pen and paper and every single book on medicine that I owned at 221B. I placed the books down on the ground quietly and turned my attention to the pen and paper. I began to catalogue Sherlock's symptoms.

_"101.5 temp, chills, sweats, headaches, muscle pains, dizziness, nausea, vomiting. No signs of infection at surgical sight. Increased heart rate and blood pressure. Conclusion: signs of dehydration."_

If I did not know what was actually wrong with Sherlock, I at least needed to keep him alive until I did know. I started Sherlock on a bag of fluids and recorded his vital signs. After that, I got down to work. There were twenty medical books on the ground and I was sure that the illness that plagued Sherlock would be in here. I spent the rest of the afternoon and the entire night scouring through the books, recording the aliments that match with each symptom. Sherlock slept through the time, but his rest was fitful. These fits would pass quickly followed by long periods of peaceful rest.

I was finishing up with the last book when I heard Sherlock stir.

"John, have you been up all night?" Sherlock inquired in a whisper.

I sat back in my seat, my hands rubbing my eyes. I could see the sun light coming through the sides of the curtains.

"I have Sherlock." I replied, now standing. "How are you feeling?"

I went and knelt by Sherlock, checking various machines that he was hooked up to.

"Cold and tired." He answered.

I took hold of his hand.

"Can you squeeze my hand as tight as you can?"

Sherlock tried to make a valiant attempt, but it just came out as a feeble squeeze. I went and felt his face, checking his temperature. He was still burning up, his temperature was now 101.8.

"Sherlock, we need to get your temperature down." I threw the blankets off of Sherlock. "Please stay right here, I will be right back." I informed him before going to the bathroom to start the water in the tub. I then got Sherlock, brought him into the bathroom and left for a second.

When I returned, I had a pail in my hand along with a glass of water and some aspirin.

"I understand that you can't keep anything down, but I need you to try. We need to bring your fever down."

I placed the aspirin and the glass of water on the side of the sink basin. Sherlock looked up at me with a lost look in his eyes.

"I don't know if I can, John."

"I just need you to try." I urged, kneeling in front of him. "Try for me, Sherlock."

He nodded his head in agreement and took the aspirin.

"Just a sip of water. We don't need you to throw up now." I commented.

He nodded again, slowly sipping the water. When he finished, I helped him undress and get into the bath. Sherlock didn't seem at all embarrassed that I was helping him. I guess he knew that he needed my help.

"I'll be right back, Sherlock. Call me if you need anything." I informed him as I left the bathroom.

I walked back out to the living room and picked up my pad of paper.

"_Obvious weakness. Temp: 101.8" I _recorded and then picked up another pad of paper with all of the symptoms and possible aliments on them.

I tucked that pad of paper under my arm and went back to the bathroom with a change of nightclothes for Sherlock.

"Here's a change of clothes for you, Sherlock. Call me if you need my help." I said, beginning to turn.

"John, can you stay here?" Sherlock asked.

I turned around in a sense of astonishment. Sherlock Holmes didn't want to be left alone.

"Sure." I answered.

I sat beside the tub, eliminating illnesses that didn't match with the new symptoms.

"Sherlock, can I ask you something?"

"Yes, John."

"How did you know that it was the Brother's friend who killed that girl?"

"A girl ends up dead somewhere she has no business being. What's she doing there? Is she tied up in something she shouldn't be? Its possible, but she's a straight A student. She's not the type of person to get roped into that sort of stuff. She followed someone there? That's the more likely option, but who? Definitely none of her friends, they are all straight A students as well. Family? Most definitely, but who? Mom said that she was at home. That's true because officers said that they could smell whiskey on her breath and there was an open bottle of it in the kitchen. Dad? It couldn't have been Dad because he went to work on the other side of town. Brother? I think so because its the only other option. What is he doing there, you ask? Its obvious, he needs money. For himself?, no. For the family that just sold two cars and a boat, now that seems more likely. Dad is a trader, who is getting hit hard by the economic downturn."

"How is he getting the money? One of two options really. He's either working for a gang or he's working for a smuggler. It can't be a gang though because no one really gets paid in a gang, but why a smuggler? Well, if you find the right dealer and smuggler route, you can make quite a bit. Now, why is it the friend that killed the girl? The brother is not going to kill his younger sister, who he has practically raised because dad was always at work and their mother is an alcoholic. Therefore, the brother's friend killed her in that shipping yard, one that is notorious for drug running."

Sherlock explained it all very slowly, whether for me or the mysterious illness, I will never know.

"I can tell you that you were right. Lestrade picked up the brother's friend and he confessed to everything."

"And to strengthen my observations, I had one of my homeless network witness the attack. I know for sure that Lestrade has questioned him."

"Of course." I whisper to myself, before asking. "How are you feeling, Sherlock?"

"Tired." He answered.

In all of the time that I had known Sherlock, I never thought I would hear those words coming out of him.

"Why don't you get out and we can go back out into the living room?"

I helped Sherlock out of the tub and into some night clothes.

"Really, John? Shorts?" Sherlock asked with an outlandish tone of voice.

"Yes, Sherlock, We need to get your temperature down and it needs to stay down."

Suddenly, we could hear the door to our flat slam against a wall.

"Boys...Boys, where are you?" It was Mrs. Hudson. "I have some great news for you."

"Give us a moment, Mrs. Hudson." I called back.

I helped Sherlock out to the living room. We moved slowly, for Sherlock still leaned on me heavily.

"Can I sit in my chair, John?" Sherlock asked,

While I wanted to protest, knowing that Sherlock should be lying down, he had a look on his face that I couldn't ignore.

"For a few minutes, Sherlock. When you start feeling weak, you need to tell me."

Sherlock nodded his head in agreement. I helped Sherlock into his chair, then took my seat across from him.

"What is the big news?" I asked Mrs. Hudson.

"You've been cleared, Sherlock." She said, handing each of us a copy of a newspaper.

I looked at the front page. It held a picture of Sherlock in the deer stalker hat. The headline read: "_Sherlock Holmes Not A Fraud: New Evidence Brought To Light In Defense Of Infamous Detective."_

"This is very good news, Sherlock. It seems, for once, that Mycroft came through for you." I commented, folding the paper back up.

"It would seem so." Sherlock mumbled.

I listened to Mrs. Hudson say something about running to the store and asking if we needed anything, As I answered with a polite no, I saw Sherlock stifle a yawn behind his hand.

As left, I turned to Sherlock and stood.

"Let's go back on the couch." I said, holding out a hand for him to grab, but he didn't grab it. "Sherlock, I know your tired. I just watched you stifle a yawn behind your hand. I may not be like you with your deductive skills, but I do have peripherals."

Sherlock grabbed my hand and I led him to the couch.

"Try to sleep, Sherlock. I will be in the kitchen doing some work if you need me." I explained as I, once again, hooked Sherlock up to the heart monitor.

I logged his vitals and walked into the kitchen, where I would work for the next seven hours.


	7. Chapter 7

I had been working into the night, eliminating more illnesses that didn't match with Sherlock's mysterious aliment. It was about ten forty-five wen I heard a noise that I had never heard in the flat before. It was sharp, raspy and high pitched . I eliminated all mechanical noises and deduced that it could only be a man made noise.

I walked over to Sherlock and listened to him breathe, for I could easily distinguish that it was coming from the common room.

"Sherlock...Sherlock." I said, shaking him awake.

"What is it, John?" Sherlock whispered weakly.

"On a scale of one to five, five being that there is an elephant sitting on your chest, how hard is it for you to breath right now?"

Sherlock weakly held up a two on his hand.

"Okay." I whispered to myself before rummaging through the medical crates. "Sherlock, I'm putting an oxygen mask on you." I said as I approached the couch again.

I carefully slid the mask over his face and allowed him to fall back asleep. Sherlock's temperature had risen again, as well as his heart rate and blood pressure. As I walked back into the kitchen to log his vitals, I saw blood sample sitting on the table. I had taken this blood sample earlier this morning. I placed an older sample of blood under the microscope and studied it. With the symptom of difficulty breathing, I could easily narrow down the list of infections to three. I felt a sense of excitement because I was getting close to finding a cure.

I spent half an hour studying the first sample of blood. There was nothing there. I placed the latest blood sample under the microscope and took about the same amount of time to study it. When I saw nothing there as well, I ripped the slide out from under the microscope and violently threw it against the wall. The slide exploded to dust as it impacted the wall. I was irate. There was something wrong with Sherlock and I could not figure out what it was.

"John." I heard Sherlock call.

I poked my head into the living room after I took a calming breath.

"Is everything okay, John?" He questioned, lifting the oxygen mask off of his face.

"Everything is fine, Sherlock. Put the oxygen mask back on and go back to sleep." I replied.

"John, come here. Just sit more a moment. I know that things are not okay."

I don't know why I listened to Sherlock, but I pulled my chair up to the side of the couch and took a seat there.

"Please, tell me what is wrong?" Sherlock pleaded.

I didn't know what made me tell Sherlock. It went against every fiber of my being.

"You've been sick and I'm trying to figure out what is wrong with you. I can't though and it enrages me."

Sherlock pushed himself into a sitting position, with his back against the pillows, before speaking.

"You will find out what is wrong with me. I know you will." He said, his voice sounding raspy from his difficultly breathing.

"I don't see why you won't let me take you to the hospital. They have the ability to find out what is wrong with you." I argued.

"John." Sherlock whispered as he sat upright, swinging his legs off the couch. "If I didn't have faith in you, I would be in a hospital. I'm also suppose to be dead as well, so I can't go to a hospital."

"But what if I can't?"

"You will."

What happened next caught me off guard. Sherlock had leaned forward and grabbed me gently by the shoulders. He pulled me over to the couch and turned to him.

"What are you..."

But I was cut off by him lips. At first, I couldn't understand what was happening. Sherlock was kissing me. It , strangely, took me time to get over my shock, relax and kiss back. It was exhilarating, feeling Sherlock's lips on mine, to feel his heart beat as my hands ran across this back, to hear his heart rate increase on the monitor just as mine did, to feel his hand comb through my hair, to know that is was me that he wanted.

As the exhilaration deepened, I felt Sherlock pull me closer. To aid him, I carefully pushed him into the couch. We laid like that for awhile, just kissing. When we broke apart to breathe, it was like reality had returned to us.

"Sherlock, um...what was that...that thing we just did?"

"You didn't enjoy it?" He asked, almost disappointed.

"No, I enjoyed it. I just want to know why."

"Because I love you." He answered in a whisper, shifting so that I was laying on my side next to him instead of on top of him. "And because I have faith in you. I know that you will find out what is wrong."

"Which reminds me..." I said, my mind getting back on topic, as I tried to get up. Sherlock kept his arms wrapped around me.

"John, it can wait. You've been up for the past three nights searching. Just take a break, I'll still be here when you wake up."

"But..." I attempted to argue.

"Just rest for me." He said, pulling me closer to him. "I'll still be here, I promise."

It was in that moment that everything hit me like the tube. I didn't realize how tired and stressed I had been till that moment. I didn't want to fall asleep, but I was glad that Sherlock had his arms around me when I did.

I woke up as the heart monitor went berserk. I stood up the moment I saw that Sherlock's heart beat had jumped to three hundred and sixty beats per minute. Something was wrong.

"Sherlock!" I shouted as I put the oxygen mask back on his face.

"Sherlock." I called again, shaking him.

He was unconscious. I turned to look at his other vitals. His blood pressure had remained the same, his temperature jumped a little. It was only his heart rate that had jumped. So, I needed to get an unconscious man to calm down. I quickly raced to the window, picked up Sherlock's violin and began to play it. I only knew a few pieces of music and I continued to cycle through them.

I had learned to play the violin a few months after Sherlock had fallen. I don't really know why I had decided to take lessons, but I enjoyed it the minute I picked up a bow. I only ever played the violin when I knew that Mrs. Hudson was not home. It was just something for me. It allowed me to feel closer to Sherlock when he was gone. There were times when I swear I could hear Sherlock playing along with me.

I took a seat in the chair and played the violin for a tense fifteen minutes. This calmed me down when I had dreams about Sherlock, so I figured it might calm him down too. I watched as Sherlock's heart rate dropped back to normal over those fifteen minutes. I put the violin back and, for the next few hours, I watched Sherlock's condition degrade in a rapid fashion.

I first had covered him up with a blanket, for he had been shivering, but an hour later he was sweating, his temperature reaching 102.9 degrees. Another hour and a half later, Sherlock began to twitch and mumble incoherently in his sleep. His temperature was 103.2. He kept calling for me in his sleep as I tried to lower his temperature.

"I'm right here, Sherlock." I whispered every time he called me

It was just about 5:30 in the morning when I couldn't handle it any longer. I grabbed my phone and made one phone call.

"Carlyle." The man answered on the other side.

"I need you to get antibiotics." I ordered.

"John? What's wrong?"

"He's come down with an infection and is getting worse. There are no antibiotics in the crates and I need some now." I informed

"Give me ten minutes." And Carlyle hung up the phone.

I set my phone down on the table and turned to Sherlock.

"I know you can here me, Sherlock. I need you to keep fighting because help is on the way. Just hold on a little longer."

Those ten minutes seemed to last ten hours. There were times that I thought I was going to lose Sherlock again. That terrified me, the idea of losing him again. I couldn't focus on those feelings at that moment, so I buried them in the back of my mind.

I heard the door fly open after those ten minutes were of. I almost breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Carlyle in the doorway. In his hand, he held a small pack. I knew that inside the pack was the antibiotics I needed to heal Sherlock with. I stood up and took them from him.

"Thank you." I said, ripping the package open.

"He looks terrible." Carlyle stated as I turned my back to him.

"I know." I replied, unwrapping the syringe from its package. "He's had this infection for three days, but I thought I could figure out what is was. I couldn't, but this should help."

I grabbed Sherlock's arm and injected the antibiotics into his arm. I was about to patch the injection sight when I heard a click and felt metal pushing against the back of my head.

"I would stop right there, Doctor Watson." Carlyle ordered as he held a silenced gun to my head.


	8. Chapter 8

"What are you doing, Carlyle?" I asked.

"I'm pointing a gun at you, what does it look like you idiot? I want you to get your hands up and stand. Don't try anything funny. Remember, I am the one holding a gun to your head. " I slowly stood up, turning to face Carlyle, with my hands behind my head. "Good, now I want you to take that chair of yours and put it back where it belongs before sitting in it."

I picked the chair up and put it back across from Sherlock's chair. When I sat down in my chair, I saw that Carlyle had placed a gun besides Sherlock.

"What are you doing?" I asked again with my hands behind my head.

"I'm going to kill you and blame it on him. Maybe, I'll even kill the notorious Sherlock Holmes. The police will believe the murder-suicide. They'll believe anything with enough evidence, even if its wrong."

"Carlyle, you and I, we went through hell together and we came out of it. We helped each other through everything. Why now?" I questioned, being utterly confused by the current situation.

"He's still alive, so you have to die." Carlyle said, motioning and pointing his gun at the unconscious Sherlock.

"What does he have to do with this?"

"He should be dead. He's not, so you have to pay for him being alive, with your life."

"But why? Why should I be dead if he's alive?" I asked, exasperated.

"Isn't it obvious, John?" A voice echoed through the room as a long beep filled the room.

I looked toward the couch, fearing that Sherlock was dying. He was not laying on the couch though. I was behind in every aspect of this situation. I turned toward the source of the voice and saw Sherlock standing there. He was sweating profusely and his knees were very shaky, both caused by the infection that was raging war on his body. Even though Sherlock's knees were shaky, his arm was steady as he pointed a gun at Carlyle.

"Isn't what obvious, Sherlock?" I questioned back as Carlyle turned his gun on Sherlock.

Now both men were pointing guns at each other. Sherlock broke eye contact with Carlyle to answer my question.

"He is one of Moriarty's snipers."

"Ah, the brilliant Mr. Holmes. I heard you were quick, but I think you are getting slow." Carlyle jabbed.

"As you can see, I'm obviously not at my best right now."

"True, you are not at your best; however, you are correct."

"And I would say that you were assigned to kill John had I not jumped that day?"

"Of course."

"What are you talking about?" I questioned.

"Remember how I told you that Moriarty had snipers to kill people if I had not jumped off the building. Finding the first sniper was not that hard. Not top soldier in the least. I almost got bored tracking him. I thought Moran was going to be the hard one, but I was wrong there. It turned out to be you, the one I couldn't track. I noticed that involuntary twitch of your trigger finger when you first spotted me. I figured that Moriarty would have put Moran on John, the amazing sniper that he was. That's where I was wrong, but now I know." Sherlock said, taking a couple deep breaths before continuing.

"What are you going to do now?" He was no addressing Carlyle. "You've given me a gun, which is know being pointed at you. It seems we are at a stalemate."

"I would not say that, Mr. Holmes. I would actually hazard a guess to say that I have the upper hand."

Carlyle paused to see if Sherlock would speak. When neither of them spoke, Carlyle continued.

"I know how to burn you, Mr. Holmes. If this were a game of chess, I would say that you have destroyed my game. However, the best player is always thinking multiple moves ahead of his opponent. I did see this move coming." Carlyle turned the gun on me. "Drop your gun, or I will kill Doctor Watson right before your eyes." Carlyle threatened.

I watched Sherlock's face turn, for just a fraction of a second, into fear.

"Check." Carlyle said, pulling the hammer back and shoving the barrel against my temple.

Sherlock held the gun for a few more seconds, his hand beginning to shake slightly, before it clattered to the floor.

"You're a smart player. Now, kick it here." Carlyle ordered.

Sherlock kicked the gun toward Carlyle, who bent down and grabbed it. What happened next was something that I would never be able to predict. The first bullet hit Sherlock in the right knee. I could almost hear the bone, tendons, and ligaments being destroyed. Sherlock hit the ground like a bag of bricks, giving out a cry of pain.

The cry of pain showed how much the infection was taking out of Sherlock. I know that Sherlock would not have allowed that cry of pain to escape his lips if he was 100%. I believe that he wouldn't have done it at 50%. He was so very weak after everything that happened. Sherlock rolled around on the floor in pain.

He cried in pain again as Carlyle shot him once in the stomach and one in the shoulder. I was scared that the bullet had hit Sherlock's heart when he didn't speak, move, or breath for a few seconds. Then Carlyle turned the gun back on me.

"Mr. Holmes." He called as he heard Sherlock moan in pain. "I would like you to watch as I kill Doctor Watson. Don't worry, this won't take long. Then I might put you out of your misery."

"Why don't you just kill me now?" Sherlock questioned as blood trickled out of his mouth.

"I don't want to kill you now. No, I want to watch you burn and make you beg for death."

"As I am sure that you are aware, I have never begged in my life. I don't plan on starting now." Sherlock argued as he tried to sit up, unsuccessfully.

"I know that you have begged before and I know who you have begged to. Isn't that right, John?" He asked me.

"He's never begged to me!" I shouted, protecting Sherlock.

"_Please, will you do this for me? This phone call, it's my note_. That doesn't ring a bell, John?" Carlyle mocked.

"How do you...?"

"The how doesn't matter any more. Nothing matters anymore because you.." He said, pushing the barrel of the gun harder against my temple. "Are going to die." He pulled the hammer back on the gun before turning to Sherlock. "This game has been fun, Mr. Holmes, but it's time for the final move."

"Can I have a moment...to say goodbye?" Sherlock questioned softly.

"May as well, even though you will be seeing him soon enough." Carlyle stated matter of factly, leaving the gun at my head.

"John, I'm sorry." Sherlock said, pushing himself up onto his forearms, even though it pained him to do so.

"Its alright. There's nothing to be sorry about, SHerlock. I was the one who decided to trust this traitor."

"I'm sorry for all of the pain that I have caused you."

"You're not going to apologize for that. Stop apologizing, just stop it." I argued.

"Oh, just hurry up already." Carlyle interjected.

"I love you, John." Sherlock said.

I watched a stray tear escape Sherlock's eye.

"I love you too, Sherlock." I responded softly.

"Are you ready to die, Doctor Watson?" Carlyle asked, shoving the barrel of the gun deeper into my skin.

I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the pain on Sherlock's face.

"Check." I heard Carlyle say again to Sherlock.

Behind my closed eyelids, I remembered seeing Sherlock laughing wearing nothing but a bed sheet, inside Buckingham Palace. This is how I wanted to remember Sherlock because he was the man that I was in love with. That was the only image I could see of Sherlock before I heard the gun go off.


	9. Chapter 9

I didn't feel any different, which caused me to open my eyes. I thought that I had been thrown in hell because I was sitting in Baker Street. Sherlock was propped up on his forearms, on the floor, a gun in hand. Carlyle was dead on the ground, blood flowing from the hole in his head.

"Mate." Sherlock said before dropping the gun and laying back on the ground, landing with a thump. That was when I shot out of my seat and went to knee by him.

"Oh dear God, Sherlock." I scrambled, placing a hand on the abdomen would and reaching for the fun that he had killed Carlyle with. "My service weapon?" I questioned, laying it on the table.

"I thought I might need it." Sherlock said before shouting in pain from my pressing down on his shoulder injury.

"Sorry." I whispered to him as I heard footsteps in the stairwell.

I grabbed my gun and pointed it at the door, thinking it was more of Moriarty's me. I was glad that I had been trained to distinguish between foe and civilian because I would have shot Mrs. Hudson, had I not been. She sheirked in terror when she entered the flat.

"Mrs Hudson, call for an ambulance."

I felt Sherlock grab my arm as I was speaking to her.

"You are going to the hospital, no matter what." I told him fiercely.

"I was going to agree with you." He whispered.

"Sorry, I thought you were going to argue with me." I apologized as I could hear Mrs. Hudson call for help.

"They're all gone, its safe to go to the hospital." Sherlock continued.

"Good." I whispered, reapplying pressure to the shoulder wound. "You couldn't have pulled that sooner?" I asked him, my heart still pumping with adrenaline.

"I had to wait until he was occupied with you. I'm sorry."

"Sorry that I almost died? Well, you should be. It doesn't matter anymore."

It really didn't matter anymore. I was alive and now I needed to keep Sherlock alive. This, of course, wouldn't have been the first time we had placed each other's lives in danger.

Sherlock had closed his eyes and I had to shake him awake.

"Sherlock, I need you to keep your eyes open." I told him in a loud voice before whispering to myself. "Hold on because I can't lose you again. Just hold on."

Whether Sherlock heard that whispered confession, I do not know. He was rather disoriented. At one point, I heard him mutter that we now had the same scar on our shoulder. I could say nothing but to agree with him. He kept closing his eyes, which really began to scare me.

"Sherlock, please stay awake because I love you and can't go through losing you again."

I heard the door open downstairs and feet running up the stairs.

"I love you too, John." Sherlock said, before he closed his eyes.

"Sherlock...Sherlock!" I shouted as I shook him, but he wouldn't respond.

I was about to feel for his pulse when paramedics pushed me out of the way.

"What happened?" One of them asked.

"He's non-responsive. GSW's to his right knee, abdomen, and left shoulder."

After answering, I turned around for a moment, trying to control my racing brain. When I turned back toward Sherlock, my brain had stopped racing and had singled out one thought. "I am going to lose him again."

The scene before me was enough to my heart plummet into my stomach and shrivel in despair. The medics were performing CPR on Sherlock. His heart had stopped beating. All of the adrenalin had left my body and fear took it's place. Had I not been steadying myself on the fireplace mantle, I would have collapsed onto the floor.

"Come on Sherlock!" I shouted. "Keep fighting. Fight to live with me, damn it. Fight for me!" I shouted again until I was silenced by the paramedics.

The paramedics, I knew, are suppose to use a defibrillator ten times before pronouncing some dead at the scene. I counted each use.

6...7...8...

But Sherlock's heart would start. Each time they used it, getting ever so closer to the tenth shock, I got more and more distraught.

"Please, Sherlock, don't leave me along again!" I shouted again as I moved closer to his lifeless body.

9...no heart beat.

I felt helpless standing there, not being able to do anything to save Sherlock. I knelt next to Sherlock's head as the medics got ready to use it again.

"Please, don't leave me again. You know I can't handle it for real." I whispered into his ear before the medic yelled "Clear!"

I backed away from him as they shocked him again. No one moved for a few seconds. This was it, this was the tenth time that they had used the defibrillator.

"Come on Sherlock. Come on, please don't leave me." I whispered, looking at the heart monitor that they had been using, tears coming to my eyes.

This was all of my fault. Sherlock had been shot protecting me. I had thought multiple times attacking Carlyle while he had the gun directed at Sherlock, but I got scared. Fear had literally paralyzed me. I didn't attack when I had a chance and now my cowardice had cost me the life of my best friend and secret lover. I was no better than Jim Moriarty.

A medic breathed in to pronounce Sherlock dead when I saw a spike on the heart monitor. There was another and another. The spikes kept coming, they weren't strong, but they were there. Along with the spikes, there were beeping noises that echoed through the room.

"Pulse is there, but its weak." A medic informed.

When the medic said that, I was stuck in a place between joy and fear. Sherlock was alive, but just barely.

"Thank you, Sherlock." I whispered to him before medics lifted him onto a strecther.

I ran along side the medics as they transported Sherlock downstairs and into the ambulance. I had also jumped into the ambulance with Sherlock. A crowd had gathered on the street surrounding out path. As we made our way into the ambulance, I could hear people talking.

"Isn't that Sherlock Holmes?"

"No, can't be. He killed himself years ago."

"No, I'm pretty sure that's him or I'm the Queen."

As we drove away, I realized that it didn't matter what people thought about Sherlock being alive. They would have found out eventually.

"We're almost there, Sherlock. Hold on." I whispered to him.

When we arrived at St. Bart's Hospital, I hopped out of the ambulance after Sherlock, running along side him into the hospital. They were taking him though a set of doors when I got held back.

"I'm sorry, but you can't go in there." A doctor informed me, turning back to chase after the commotion around Sherlock.

I watched them take Sherlock around the corner as the doors shut. The same wave of helplessness crashed over me once again. Despair washed over me as well because I knew that Sherlock's heart would stop again.

"Please, hold on for me, Sherlock." I whispered before praying to God for Sherlock to pull through.


	10. Chapter 10

I don't know how long I was pacing for. It felt like forever. Time was ticking by so slowly. I noticed, while I was pacing, that Mrs. Hudson had arrived at the hospital. I didn't see her, but I heard her speaking to me.

"He'll pull through John. He always does." She told me and then proceeded to repeat every once in a while, in an attempt to calm me down.

I don't understand why it is taking so long. At least, it felt like that. The longer it took, the more helpless and despair I felt. Sherlock was in there fighting. It had always been Sherlock and I fighting the world together, next to each other. Now, Sherlock was alone fighting for something more important than anything he had ever fought for, and I should be there fighting along side him.

Every couple of minutes, a police officer would come and ask for my statement on the incident. Every single time, it was a different officer. I had to have talked to ten different officers. I was angry that I wasn't with Sherlock when he needed me and I was frustrated with having to tell the same story multiple times, to have to relive that terrifying memory repeatedly.

It was no surprise that when I got asked for an eleventh time, I exploded.

"I already told those bloody blokes...!" I shouted, turning around. "Oh, sorry Lestrade." I apologized when I saw my acquaintance from Scotland Yard.

"Jesus, John." I heard him breathe.

"Sorry." I mumbled again.

"John, I need to talk to you."

"There are ten different officers who already have asked me for my statement. You can ask them for it."

"No, John. Just you and me, off the record." He said as he grabbed me by the upper arm.

"I need to be there if they have any news about Sherlock." I argued.

"They'll know where you are. I told them where to find you." He said as he escorted me into an empty room.

Lestrade took a seat. I stayed standing, pacing within the small room.

"Jesus, John, sit down. You're making me nervous." Lestrade insisted.

"I am nervous, Greg. I can't sit down."

"Why don't you tell me what happened, then?" He questioned.

"What is there to tell, Greg? Sherlock is alive, and for all we know, is currently dying!" I shouted, exasperated.

"Just explain to be from the very beginning." He said calmly, almost like I had never shouted at him.

I had spent the next few minutes telling Lestrade what had happened. The only parts that I left out were Sherlock and me kissing and the fact that Sherlock's heart had stopped.

"John, you've know Sherlock for a long time. You know the hell that he has gone through and you know that he's gotten through it. He will pull through."

I stopped moving, the first time in a long time, and slammed my hands down on the table in one fluid motion. Lestrade jumped and looked at me.

"You didn't see his heart stop." I said quietly but fiercely.

It stayed silent for a moment, the silence was very close to becoming suffocating.

"What?" Lestrade asked.

"You didn't have to watch the paramedics perform CPR on him." I said before pacing the room again.

Lestrade stayed silent for a while as I paced.

"John, you know that it will be okay." Lestrade whispered, breaking the silence.

"It's not okay!" I shouted, turning to him. "I've been fighting along side him for years. I have never seen him so weak, and, when he needs someone the most, he's in a room of strangers who are trying to save his life. There should be someone he knows in there with him." I ranted.

"You mean you?" Lestrade asked.

"Of course. I can't stand sitting here while he's fighting for his life."

"You're hardly sitting." Lestrade joked.

"You know what I mean." I snapped back.

"You love him, don't you?"

"What makes you think that? The fact that I can't sit still for a second, or the fact that I'm worried about him. No, wait a minute, it's the fact that you heard that I begged to Sherlock to pull through while the medics were bringing him back to life. That I told him that I couldn't handle it again. What possibly gave you that idea?"

"I'm just asking." Lestrade said, putting his hands up.

I was breathing heavy. I was agitated and tired of people.

"Are you seeing Mycroft Holmes?" I asked, wondering if I was seeing things correctly.

"What? No" Lestrade said defensively.

_"Immediate denial with dilated pupils." _I thought. "You're lying to me." I addressed him.

"How do you know?" Lestrade challenged.

"You have ink stains on the top of your left hand, which means someone has been touching the top of your hand. I also saw traces of it on the back of your suit jacket. That means someone has been stroking your back. They're in the shape of finger marks and they most definitely don't come from a woman. You also smell of Mycroft's cologne."

"What if I buy the same cologne as he does?" Lestrade asked.

"You don't. I believe it is too expensive, even for your pay grade. Also, your lips..."

"Fine. Yes, I am seeing Mycroft Holmes. What does this have to do with the current situation?"

"Where is he? Mrs. Hudson and I are here because we care about Sherlock. You're here because of you job, but deep down, you care for Sherlock. Does he not even care about his own brother? He keeps telling me that he worries about Sherlock constantly, why is he not here?"

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders before speaking.

"What does Mycroft and I have to do with this?"

"Think about it. You would be me and Mycroft would be Sherlock. The man you love has already been taken from you, he almost died in front of your eyes and now you have no idea what his fate is. I'm trying to get you to sit down and stop being nervous. I'm telling you right now, stop trying to tell me to calm down because you have no idea how it feels. Your lover is still very much alive."

I could feel the anger building up as I spoke.

The door opened and I shouted.

"What do you want?!"

The doctor stood in the doorway.

"I'm...um...I'm looking for John Watson." He stammered.

"Yeah, that's me." I responded.

Lestrade stood up and stormed out of the room before the doctor spoke again.

"I have some news on Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

I went to the door and stuck my head out, bidding Mrs. Hudson to come into the room.

"What is it John?" She inquired.

"This man has some news on Sherlock." I informed her before turning to the doctor. "What's the news?"

I was almost too afraid to ask at that point. One minute, I was bursting to know what was going on with Sherlock and the next, I was terrified to know.

"Mr. Holmes made it through the surgery."

Right then and there, I wanted to collapse on the ground and cry.

"Okay." I replied, almost weakly.

"We've moved him into a room, where he is going to stay for a couple of days. We are going to give him some antibiotics and morphine for the infection and pain. We want to watch him for a couple of days, but we expect him to make a full recovery."

"Oh thank god." I breathed. "Can you take me to see him?"

The doctor was about to answer when Mrs. Hudson spoke.

"You go ahead John."

"You're not coming?"

"No, you two need to sort things out by yourselves. I'll come by later in the day. Give Sherlock my love."

Then she walked out of the hospital.

"Can you take me to see him?" I asked again.

"Follow me."

It took us a couple minutes to get there , for we had to take an elevator and took multiple turns to get there. When we arrived outside the door, I thanked the doctor and walked in. The sight of Sherlock resting there made me want to cry. I sat beside Sherlock and grabbed his hand. Actually, I grabbed his wrist. I had to be sure that Sherlock was alive. I needed to believe it for myself. Understand my fingers, I felt the steady pounding of Sherlock's pulse, just like I could feel his heart beat the first time we kissed. Sherlock was alive. He fought through it.

"Thank God." I whispered to myself.

I sat in the chair for a while, doing nothing more than feeling Sherlock's pulse underneath my fingers. I watched as Sherlock opened his eyes after a few minutes.

"Hi, Sherlock." I said, moving my hand so that I was holding his.

"Hi, John." He responded.

I didn't even notice that my thumb began to softly caressed the back of Sherlock's hand.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better, now that I don't have bullets inside of me."

I laughed a little before responding.

"Yeah, I would think so. That was a little terrifying there for a moment. Mrs. Hudson sends her love, Lestrade sends his regards, and, I would like to think, your brother does too."

"Yes, I know that my brother and Lestrade are dating. It's been going on for about a year." Sherlock said, as if he had read my mind.

"It was interesting to find out." I commented.

It stayed silent between Sherlock and I for some time. We just sat there, enjoying the fact that we were both still on this earth. Sherlock had been rubbing the back of my hand, but I didn't notice until he pulled his hand away. What I did notice was that Sherlock had been taking my pulse.

"John, I'm sorry." Sherlock whispered.

"Sherlock, its..."

"Its not find. Please let me explain things because I know that you have a lot of questions. I know that you know that I pretended to kill myself because Moriarty had threatened everyone. I managed to fake my death by manipulating people. One of those people was you. I didn't want to do that, but it was the only way I could. I had planned for multiple versions of mine and Moriarty's final meeting. I manipulated you by using the gas that was created in project H.O.U.N.D. The phone call was the stimulus as well as seeing me on the roof. The fear came when I fell off the roof. "

"There was a landing about six feet off of the ground. It was covered by a large truck, so no matter where you stood, you couldn't see the ledge. I landed on the landing and rolled off onto the ground. I had blood packets that were meant to explode when I hit the ground. It worked on you and the snipers."

"I didn't enjoy manipulating you, but had I found another way, I would have used it. I understand the pain that I have caused you. I've been watching from the shadows. My heart broke when I saw and heard you come to me after I fell. My heart became dust when I saw that your limp had come back. There were times that I wanted to tell you that I was alive because I saw how badly I hurt you. I know that you almost caught me a few times, but I know that it made you start believing that I was alive. I'm sorry for all of the pain and misery that I have caused you." Sherlock explained.

"Sherlock, that is the past. I am not upset about things that I can't change. True, I'm upset that you didn't trust me enough to tell me that you were alive."

"They would have killed you." Sherlock argued.

"I understand that. I maybe upset, but that doesn't mean that I'm grateful for what you've done. I'm still alive because of you. I'm not angry about anything because it doesn't matter anymore and it never will matter. I don't care what you've done, as long as you did it fro something bigger than yourself."

"Of course I did." Sherlock answered. "I did it because I love you, John."

"Then the past is the past. You shouldn't be sorry about it because I'm not angry about it."

I stood up and leaned forward to kiss Sherlock. We kissed for a few moments before stopping.

"I love you, Sherlock." I whispered to him, my forehead resting on his.

"I love you too, John." He whispered back.

I kissed him back and realized something: This kiss would be one of many that him and I would share as we grow old with each other.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

So, I really hope that you enjoyed this fanfiction. I very much enjoyed writing it. I want to know how I did, so please review this story for me. Thanks to all of my lovely readers who stuck out me losing the notebook and taking forever to update the last couple chapters. I love all of you.


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